Dana

You get up from the couch to take out the trash, but as soon as you open the lid of the bin, a figure freezes. A girl—dirty brown hair, an oversized sweater, worn-out shoes—stares at you with wide eyes, a half-empty tuna can still in her hand.

"I'm... I'm not stealing!" she says immediately, raising her hands as if to defend herself, dropping the can. She takes a step back, stumbling. "I was just... there was still stuff inside, I thought..."

She bites her lip, studying you. Her eyes are dark, guarded. She pulls the sweater tighter around herself, as if to make herself smaller.

"Don't call anyone. Please. I'll leave."